


Saturated Sunshine for Chester

by SirkkaSnow



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: California, Fluff without Plot, Gen, Grunkle Bunker, Hiking, Road Trips, Secret Santa, Spring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 10:15:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17160146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirkkaSnow/pseuds/SirkkaSnow
Summary: A Secret Santa request from my good friend Chester! Pure undiluted springtime sunshine in fic form for the dark end of the year, featuring Mabel, Stan, the wonderful California national parks, and a whole bunch of school projects.





	Saturated Sunshine for Chester

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for suggesting this, Chester, I had a fantastic time writing it.

Springtime in California, and the weather was _perfect,_ one of those days where the air was so soft and so warm that one barely noticed the weight of the atmosphere at all. Not hot, not cold. _Just right._

Even though you’d been climbing this trail for over an hour it hadn’t been so bad. The slope wasn’t punishing, the sky was blue, birds were singing up a racket to either side through patches of meadow dense with flowers. 

And the company was every bit as good as you could ask for. 

It was rare that everyone managed to convene in one place, especially when Dipper and Mabel were at home and in school, but somehow you’d all pulled it off. The Stan O’War was docked in San Francisco – easier access to research materials and some startup lab he’d been working with, that was Ford’s claim. Everyone knew perfectly well that he missed the kids and that both he and Stan just needed to stretch their legs for once.

You’d managed to arrange a work-study assignment out here for the summer, and with a couple weeks left before you actually had to start the _work_ end of things, you were hell-bent on spending as much time with your favorite people as possible. 

Mabel was an enabler. Bless her. 

So the three of you, Stan and Mabel and yourself, came out here to one of the state parks to accomplish a bunch of things – have a picnic, get some fresh air, and gather enough data for no less than _six_ of Mabel’s current projects. 

(She’d leaned forward, intense in that uniquely Mabel way. “So in one afternoon, we can wrap up biology-and-biomes, the coding class, my English extra-credit essay, intro trigonometry _and_ test the stuff for Dipper’s engineering extra-credit project. _Plus_ you get quality time with Grunkle Stan. It’s a win-win-win-win-win-win!”)

The only issue was that three hundred flattened paper airplanes in a backpack turned out to be pretty heavy. You shifted a strap, grinning up the trail when Stan glanced back in question. “I’m fine, don’t worry about it, but I hope we’re getting close.”

“Pretty sure we’re gettin’ close. Honestly, I don’t know how she keeps goin’ at the speed she does.” Stan slowed down and reached back, lacing his hand solidly into yours, the interlock of fingers familiar and comforting. “Just as well we’re gonna either leave behind or _eat_ most of what we’re carryin’.”

Mabel had insisted on color coordination this morning, so Stan had come up with a Hawaiian shirt in garish orange to go with your primrose yellow and her lemon. The three of you made for a colorful procession along the pine-shaded trail, Mabel’s bright shirt visible in flashes through the branches as she ran ahead and back, seemingly never out of breath. She was waving a tiny video camera around (“Journalism project! Plus family documentation, _very important!_ ”) and capturing the entire hike with elaborate narration as you climbed.

Her voice drifted down through the trees. “And _that_ is a California Scrub-Jay, enjoying a gorgeous day in its natural habitat foraging for lunch with its flock. Scrub jays are among the smartest of all animals and are _very sneaky_ about hiding extra food from other birds!”

The pines were thinning out further as you all huffed up the trail towards the crest of the ridge. Mabel slowed down, dropping into formation at your side. “I’ve heard amazing things about this place,” she stage-whispered sidelong, camera clutched firmly in one hand, the other sliding easily into your free fingers. “We all have to see it at once. I need a _group reaction shot._ Look impressed.”

“Only if it’s impressive,” you shot back, swinging both interlaced hands for a moment to just enjoy the feel of it, and then your little group made it up and over, and you felt Stan’s clasp go slack.

“Well all right,” he said, sounding…impressed. Which was saying something, considering the photos and the video he’d sent along of the last sunflare-sparked aurora he and Ford had documented. Thing was, you certainly couldn’t argue, gently tugging your hand free to shade your eyes and look out and over the valley sprawling out below. 

Poppies. A vast rolling carpet of California poppies, orange sparked here and there with rogue yellow or pink, studded at intervals with the sapphire of wild lupine, the air hazed and humming with bees, glimpses of the Pacific’s deep velvet blue just visible at the far edge where the distant slope broke up into a series of little jutting hills. 

Even Mabel slowed to a stop, camera panning a slow pivot across the landscape, her grin wide and incandescent. “Okay,” she murmured, “even better than the descriptions. Wow. Dipper’s gonna be _so sorry_ he skipped this.”

It was a good minute before any of you actually managed to move again, Mabel finally remembering to swing the camera up and over to capture your expression and Stan’s – and honestly she’d missed the moment of unguarded, giddy delight that had set him to grinning like a twelve-year-old. “C’mon, don’t we have like a billion paper airplanes to toss out across this valley? And lunch, definitely lunch, I’m positively starvin’ after all that walkin’.”

The three of you headed out along the valley rim’s path for a ways to find a spot that enjoyed both sparse shade and a bit of an overhang, a perfect launch spot off the beaten trail, and everyone unlimbered their packs – Mabel with a laptop and a blipping antenna-looking thing, Stan with lunch, you with rubber-banded packs of flattened paper airplanes in several different styles. 

(There had been a lively debate between Mabel and Dipper about decoration, finally settled by Ford, who decreed that water-based inks were fine but that glitter or stickers would throw off the aerodynamics and contaminate the results. Mabel had sulked, but had gone to town with watercolor markers instead.)

You settled into the grass and started unpacking airplanes, snapping off the bands, straightening out the wings on the first dozen and lightly pinching the nose of each to check for the taped-in tracking chip. The objective was to model air currents and thermals through the valley at intervals as the day heated up, so you’d be launching volleys spaced out across the afternoon. The secondary objective was to track distance and stability performance of the different airfoil designs. Mabel had painstakingly written the tracking code for the chips; Dipper had planned the project; both of the kids had designed the airplanes; Ford had contributed the hardware. You and Stan had ended up doing a good two-thirds of the folding and suffering most of the paper cuts.

Stan’s broad hand ruffled your hair and he dropped a chilly, condensation-dewed bottle of pop into your startled hand. “Lookin’ good, kid? Mabel’s about done getting that sucker set up.” He settled into the dense grass at your side and draped a casual arm around your shoulders, looking out across the meadow. “Gotta give her credit, this is _nice._ ”

You leaned into his side comfortably, drawing deep breath, savoring the heady scents of flowers and sun-drenched grass and pine resin. “I don’t know where she comes up with these places, but I’m glad she does the research. I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“Neither have I, and I’ve seen a _lot_ the last couple years.” Stan’s arm tightened gently, and he dipped his head to kiss your temple. “I keep thinkin’,” he rumbled, then hesitated. 

After a long moment you nudged him gently in the ribs. “Go on.”

“I keep thinkin’.” His fingers drummed a soft rhythm against the point of your shoulder. “The summer I met the kids and we got Ford back, that was about the best year of my life. ‘Course then _you_ showed up, which made for _another_ very good year, and here’s the funny thing, I think this year’s been even _better._ Wonder why that is?” 

You’d turned to hide your smile against the orange and yellow of his gloriously gaudy shirt. “I have no idea.”

“I have a couple.” Stan peppered the crown of your head with smooches, kissing your forehead when he could, his grin widening as your giggles intensified. “Mostly has to do with bein’ surrounded by the best people in the world. And I’d know, I’ve _seen_ most of the world by now.”

You butted into his side, half tipping him over into the grass, Stan yelping protest. “Hey, come on, we’re gonna squash the research project!”

“The airplanes can manage for a minute.” You braced a hand and propped yourself up, stretching and straining until you caught his lips and kissed him in gentle vengeance. “Good. Maybe we can talk you into being around a little more.” 

His eyes softened behind crooked glasses. “That might maybe be kinda what we had in mind,” he started cautiously.

Your brows rose – this was news – but Mabel’s chirp interrupted the thought. 

“I don’t know if you two have _any_ idea how _cute_ you are, but fortunately I’m right here to document the whole thing.” She winked from behind the camera and Stan went pink right up to the ears. 

“Aw, pumpkin, _c’mon,_ I got a reputation to uphold.” He snatched up a paper airplane and tossed it her way; she ducked, laughing.

“I’ve got the computer up anyway and it’s time to get started. Come ooooonnnn, let’s _toss some planes!_ ”

Stan grumbled, but you disentangled yourselves and rose to get to work. Throwing paper airplanes by the literal dozen was surprisingly tiring. Mabel had a slingshot going for hers, dropping to her knees to check the fine tracking lines on her program from time to time; Stan was a virtual paper-airplane cannon, throwing each with a neat snap of the arm through the wrist; you just tried to keep up, feeling your bicep start to creak by the fortieth or so. The little airfoils floated out across the field at different rates depending on the design, some drifting and lazy, some dipping and diving. A few caught warmed and rising air, disappearing into the hazy distance at the far rim.

Between volleys you all sprawled out in the grass and devoured sandwiches and veggie sticks, sipping on the sodas Stan had smuggled in – the real-sugar stuff was strictly forbidden in the Piedmont Pines household. 

By the time you finally got the last few planes off into the air, the sun was well past its zenith and you and Stan were visibly worn out. Mabel showed no signs of slowing down and popped up with her camera. “I’m going to go get a last round of video,” she called over her shoulder, running down the slope at an angle, a bright splotch against the rich golden-orange of the poppies. “Don’t you two get into trouble!”

“Be careful, kiddo!” Stan yelled after her, then flopped onto his back and huffed out a breath, settling his head on your knee. “Good grief. Were we ever that young?” 

You ran your fingers lightly through his disheveled hair, stroking his brow, coaxing a low pleased hum out of him. “I’m a little closer than you are,” you chided gently. "Yes. We were. But I think Mabel’s energy is all her own.” 

“You’re probably right.” His lashes drooped as your touch traced lightly along his temples. You both settled into a relaxed quiet for a few minutes, and when at length he spoke it was in a soft rumble. “Learned a lot, these last couple years, about treasurin’ the moment. Because, y’know. There’s been a lot to treasure.”

“Mmm.” You tapped the tip of his nose lightly, then his chin, stroking feather-light along his jawline. “I could say the same. Meeting you has opened up this world of possibilities.” 

Stan’s smile started out soft, then widened into a familiar, just slightly devious grin. “So, if say Ford an’ I were plannin’ to spend more time in California and we could finagle a way for you to stay out here, maybe you’d go for it?” 

You had to bite your lip at that, looking down at him in widening surprise, Stan’s teeth flashing as he held back a chuckle. “You know perfectly well I would!”

“Then maybe my luck’s still holdin’.” He reached up to tangle a hand into yours, pulling it down to rest against his breastbone. “We’ll talk once we manage to stagger back out to civilization. In the meantime….”

The air was dense with birdsong and Mabel’s drifting laughter, afternoon sunlight a subtle weight upon your shoulders as you rested together, contented, Stan lifting your hand to press kisses to your fingers every now and then.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the gorgeous Figueroa Mountain poppy/lupine fields at Los Padres National Forest and a desperate need to think about springtime, now that the winter is starting to turn around.


End file.
